sometimes they stay still
by mauratalityrate
Summary: TRIGGERING. it's been three weeks since jane shot paddy doyle, and maura isn't handling the loss of her best friend at all well.
1. such beautiful dignity in self-abuse

**sometimes they stay still**

this is set after jane shoots paddy doyle, approximately three weeks after. there will be flashbacks explaining how and why maura is in this situation.

this is possibly very triggering for those of you in ed recovery. i wouldn't want to impact on your health so seriously, don't read this.

i'm going with maura being 5'6- so a healthy weight for her would be 120lbs. right now, she's 105. not worryingly gaunt, but definitely skinnier than most.

**chapter one**

one-two-three-four

your hand ghosts down your side and you feel your fingers judder as they skim your ribs

one-two-three-four on the other side, sliding your finger down the gaps, up on the bone, down again

you roll on your back, feeling the ridges of your spine press painfully into the mattress and you smile.

when you look down, you can see a curve. a sharp, peaked hipbone on each side, like mountains, like towers keeping watch over the valley that is your stomach

it is beautiful to you and it is perfect to you and it is yours, all yours, like nothing has ever been before.

* * *

waking up in the mornings is hard. much harder than it used to be. it seems surreal to you now that you used to get up and do yoga and smile and laugh and talk to jane

you haven't smiled in weeks.

the lethargy is a side effect of the weight loss, as you full well know. light hits your closed eyelids and turns your world a funny shade of liver-pink, and there's a tiredness in your bones again that whispers to you and calls to you and tells you how much better it would be to stay in bed and let the world come to you

but you push past it push through it like you used to and manage not to pass out as you swing yourself upright. you count that as an achievement now.

* * *

breakfast? breakfast is the same as it has always been, a bowl of cereal and a slice of toast. you take pleasure from the smell of the butter, the creaminess of the milk, the doughy inside of the bread, all the way up until the plate is empty and the realisation of what you just did sinks in

[disgusting]

[pathetic]

[weak]

[fatfatfatfatfat]

like it does every day. what's that saying- the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? well, that puts you firmly in the category of 'crazy'. every day you eat with the vague hope that today will be different and today you will be happy and today you can block the visions of the numbers on the scale whizzing up and round like a roulette wheel

but today is always a tomorrow and it's off to the bathroom you go.

* * *

vomiting is the least graceful part about this. the weight loss is clean simple elegant and how you wish you were one of those people who could have the will to banish food entirely and leave their insides clean and tiny and pink

but you're not

and besides, they'd notice if you stopped eating. at least, that's what you tell yourself when you're all alone in your kitchen at 10pm on a thursday night and there's no one around and there's a treadmill upstairs away from the food and you haven't eaten all day

but there's also peanut butter and jam and soft white bread and all the comfort food you never had and you eateateat and no-one's been round to see you in weeks

and you indulge, gorge yourself on fats and carbs and sugars and it's so good give me MORE and if they could see you now, queen of the dead, always poised, unruffled- if only they could see you frantically throwing food into your mouth and chewing and swallowing so fast you can't even taste it but it's there and that's what's important it's _there._

and however hard you try not to analyse that thought, that night when you slump over the toilet after a violent purge, you think that food might never leave, but it can't pull your hair back from your face and make red sox references and hug you until you stop crying

* * *

it feels so good when you walk into the precinct and scan the lobby, mentally calculating body mass index and shoe size and muscle/fat ratios and however you check it, you're always the winner. and you see them do it too, see them bug their eyes at your legs- 'look at dr. isles!' 'jesus, she looked great about ten pounds ago but look at her _legs_, she's a stick insect!' which everyone knows is just woman-speak for 'i wish i could be you'- at least, that's what you tell yourself

your body feels right and for the first time in ages you feel happy in your own skin

but you forget that it's only been three weeks for them. they haven't seen you, they weren't there every day as you stepped on the scale and the burning in your throat and the pressure near your heart magically melts away because it's working and you're getting thinner

just as you step into the lift, you see jane. you lock eyes for a moment, and then her eyebrows raise slightly as she flicks her eyes down to your legs. and as the doors close, there's a flicker of triumph in your eyes that you don't even bother trying to hide.

* * *

it's sweet how your lab techs worry about your new look. and it's fun to confuse them- you've accepted every offer of a coffee and you've eaten all the donuts they brought for you and you want to laugh as they hover at the door, waiting for you to bin the bag of sugar-glittery fried dough- but you don't, and you see their looks of badly disguised relief as you bite.

you send a little thank you prayer to the god of architecture because you have a bathroom in your office with a near silent flush and you can hide food in your desk and get an intern to do a bagel run and get a burrito at lunch and it's going to be amazing-

but in the middle of your excitement you see a head of dark curls in the hallway outside your office and you freeze- but she turns and it's not jane and you're fine and you're safe breathe maura-

but you're not hungry any more.


	2. always on my knees for you

**sometimes they stay still **

chapter two

it's been two days and you feel like you're a test tube being held together with masking tape with liquid still inside and you're trying desperately to keep it in and hold yourself together so you don't explode

you haven't really seen jane since then, which can only be good, because every time your eyes meet hers you get yanked right back to when you were fifteen and back from france during the summer holidays and you'd just come out of the bathroom wiping your hands on your skirt to dry them and you froze because your mother was sitting on your bed looking at you accusingly and you were dragged out to the bathroom with the scales and you'd lost two stone in three months and your mother was crying because she thought it had just been a phase when the dorm mistress had called about it last year and you were crying because you'd wanted to lose three and you're so pathetic maura you can't even starve right-

when jane looks at you you get that same sick feeling

so you hide.

which is silly, because what can jane do? you remind yourself over and over that jane is not your friend any more, despite how the very thought makes you feel like you just bit your nails down to the quick and plunged your hands into a bowl of lemon juice.

she is not your friend and she can't do anything. and you remind yourself that this is a good thing- now you're out from under jane's shadow, you can be whatever you want

you can be maura 2.0, a smart but confident maura, a skinny maura, a skinnier than jane maura, a better than jane maura

because if she won't apologise, won't admit she was wrong, won't admit that for once you were superior

then you'll just have to show her. that was your logic here. you'll show jane that you don't need her to make you special and wanted. you can rip the friendship you had up just as easily as you can rip the fat from your body.

* * *

you have always been numbers.

the numbers of marks on the tests, the numbers of days until you could go back to france and away from this house full of words and conversation and art and illogic

the numbers of people you beat to get this job that job this placement

the numbers of zeroes on the end of the price tags on the dresses you wear

the numbers of bodies

you are a creature of logic. it had always been this way. and jane has been the anomaly in your life so far

she swept in on a chaotic wave of laughter and guesswork and blew away all your routines, your habits, your handholds, and she ripped off your comfort blanket and dragged you out to play in the sea

and for a while, it was fun. you forgot about your self-imposed curfew as you stayed late at the bar, clinging on to jane's arm as she loudly called for more beer

you forgot about the billions of bacteria in the public bathrooms you went to when jane dragged you out to the cinema and you shared popcorn and smiles

jane relaxed you and electrified you at the same time. she was like some strange kind of caffeine/ambien blend.

but now she's gone you've grabbed back on to your little rock, your numbers

but this time you're back to the scales and the ridges of your spine and your ribs. _one-two-three-four._

* * *

eventually you get caught.

you're not stupid, you knew it would happen eventually. it's freakishly like a replica of the scene from twenty-odd years ago, except this time it's not your mother in your bedroom but it's susie chang in your office but the look in their eyes and the tornado of fear in your stomach are

exactly

the same

you pass it off as a bad stomach bug but you know you're not fooling her, but thank god thank god she doesn't say what she's thinking and leaves

and your hands are shaking and when you look down you see the cut on your knuckle has reopened, and you're dripping saliva-y blood on the floor.

susie seems to have lasted longer than you expected, but eventually rumours start slipping around. you can practically see it in the air, an oily black smear swooping from shoulder to shoulder and you can't help but shudder as their eyes light up with malicious curiousity- 'i knew no one was that skinny naturally!' 'especially as she wasn't exactly delicate before-' and the nasty laughter leaves smoke trails in the air and your stomach roils and clenches along with your hands and your jaw and all you can think of is jane

she has to know, she can't have not heard. the entire precinct was awash with gossip about their split. you're a hot topic and you know it.

their eyes bore into you and your legs as you step out the glass doors and into the city streets, and you don't feel half as triumphant as you did before.

* * *

later that night you break out the alcohol. no fine wines for you tonight- it's neat vodka shots, one-two-three-four-five-six and maybe more but you can't tell you don't know where you are or why you're doing this and you break down and cry and scream for janejanejane

you're like a little kid telling stories to yourself now. maybe jane will come in and throw herself at your feet and beg for your forgiveness

maybe she'll tell you that she's been jealous of you all these years

maybe she'll even join in with you. you've always wondered about how she stays that skinny with all that cholesterol-

but it's eleven already and the phone hasn't rung and something's off because jane can always always tell when you need her and even though you're not speaking surely she places you above her pride?

so you wait for another hour and after a few more shots you give up and start swigging directly from the bottle and your eyes are swimming and all of a sudden you're on the floor and jane still hasn't rung

why hasn't she called?

maybe she's coming over instead, you think. so somehow you make your way to the door and lie in front of it ready for her to come in and lay down next to you and hug you and make it all okay and tell you you're beautiful like she did that time when you had a panic attack about wearing a bikini when she wanted to go to the pool with you

one am and jane's not here.

two am.

three am.

and you sit and wait and wish and cry and you're so tired you can't sleep and you're possibly the dirtiest you've ever been in your life because your face is puffy from crying and your eyes are smeared with mascara and you threw up in the succulent by your door

this is probably why jane doesn't come, you think, and and you're all out of tears so you lie on your back and watch the room slowly fill with grey light until it's saturday morning and the birds are singing and your neighbours are driving and chatting but here in your hall it's as silent as the grave

because jane didn't come.


	3. she says 'i'll feed on your breath'

**sometimes they stay still**

chapter three

you haven't been able to bring yourself to eat since then but it doesn't really matter now because they know. they all know, you can see it in their faces, you can see it in the way they hold themselves and you can hear it in the way they speak to you

the men don't know how to act. they shuffle awkwardly and avoid looking at you, eyes glued to the floor. and the women treat you like you're a whole new species- they're simultaneously disgusted, intrigued and bone-achingly jealous. they want to be you, but they want to be three blocks away from you in case the crazy is contagious.

but what none of them have done is reported you to your boss. maybe some have gone to human resources, maybe some have had a talk with cavanaugh- but if they'd bothered to do their research they'd know that you report to no one in this building and you are invincible

you don't know why you were so scared it would come out.

if you could think clearly, maybe you'd miss the little chats you had with the interns, and maybe you'd hate that feeling of being utterly alone in a sea of people-

but as it stands you haven't eaten anything for two days and when you blink fireworks go off behind your eyes and it's taking everything you have to concentrate on your autopsies and if you'd had to have a conversation you think you might have just

given out

sank in from the inside like an overcooked baked alaska and crumpled to the floor and never ever have gotten up again.

* * *

'…took some personal…' '…didn't even know she had another brother…' '….few weeks, she said-'

no one tells you anything but jane can't be _that_ good at avoiding you, and angela's not at the café either

it takes far more effort than it should to stamp down on the little bean of worry that is putting down roots in the pit of your stomach, especially so soon after 'the incident'

-which is what you've chosen to call it because mental breakdown sounds too raw too real-

and to punish yourself for caring about jane when jane didn't (_didn't call didn't come left me left me leftme) _

you make yourself a feast of ice cream and toast and banana and jam and icing, and set it on your kitchen counter where you can see it as you spent the night forcing yourself to do one more crunch until you finally slip

away.

* * *

one week and you're forcing yourself to chew one apple a day and it feels like you're trying to swallow some sort of quick-drying concrete mix

you've wished all your life to be the type who just doesn't eat

but now that you're there, you see that it's just as bad as puking. because puking is for those who feel too much

and starving is for those who don't feel at all.

* * *

susie sticks her head around the doorframe and tells you that she's off on her lunch break and it suddenly hits you how much time is freed up when you stop eating.

you think about what large chunks of your day stretch out in front of you and feel free and unencumbered by expectations and food and responsibilities and people

and for a moment you're dizzy with possibilities instead of hunger

but then you are hit by a wave of gut pains and as you bring your knees to your chest and force back the tears you realise just how futile those thoughts are. because whatever you do, you'd do alone.

another wave of gut pain hits but this time you're forcing back the memory of jane's laugh ringing out as she grabbed your hand and pulled you out of your office for the very first time.

* * *

you end up at the gym. exercise means sweat and sweat is the fat crying, whispers the teenaged you perched on your shoulder as you stare at the blob that used to be maura isles in the boston pd gym mirror

sweat is the fat melting and escaping and along with it all the pain and the hurt and the indelible memories of jane that you're beginning to think are tattooed on your eyelids.

you haven't eaten a full meal in a fortnight. you're half caffeine half multivitamins and maybe a little bit salad but somehow you're bigger and puffier and more bloated than you've ever been before

people still look at you but now they mock.

'getting skinnier and skinnier, she is'

and you watch your calves as you walk away, watch the slabs of fat under your skin ripple and slap against each other as you walk

you just want them to _stoptalkingstoplookingatme_

if you're not skinny then all of this was for nothing. you lost susie and angela and everyone (janejanejanejanejane your brain hisses even though you know you'd lost her before this even started)

it won't be in vain.

* * *

week three. still fat.

you've been down at the gym every day after work, ignoring the raised eyebrows when you walk into the room-

ignoring the lack of people on the machines next to you-

and only concentrating on sweating hard enough to purge all the fat and all the hate from your body.

four hours a night seems to be doing the trick. you end up so exhausted that you stumble into bed and fall into a greyscale dreamless sleep, far away from the technicolour scenes of jane's eyes fluttering shut next to you in this same bed that used to haunt you

but one night the basement where the gym is has a sign on the door forbidding entry. you try to read it but the words keep swimming in front of your eyes

-four days, two apples, and more coffee than the rest of your department drank in a day and this is both the weakest yet the strongest you've felt in so long-

and you don't really care _why_ it's closed

you drift back to the locker room, head whirling with ways to get your four hours in- you don't care if you have to do crunches on the stone kitchen floor until your spine bruises- anything to escape jane's eyes-

and no sooner does that thought enter your fuzzy head than you find your locker blocked by a familiar body. you'd know that smell anywhere you dream of that smell and those arms and for a moment you press your eyes shut tightly and imagine that this is the moment just before jane gathers you into a hug-

'maura.'

even your pathetically slow heart starts to beat a little faster and you feel a rush of adrenaline like a bucket of cold water poured down your back janejanejanejane_jane_

you don't dare look up at her. goingtopassoutgoingtopassout

'hello.'

your voice is small and hoarse from lack of use. and even you can barely hear it and if you had the energy you'd wince at the lack of confidence in it

but instead you edge a bit closer to the block of lockers so you can support yourself. because of _course_ she catches you at your weakest moment.

that's her specialty, whispers teenage maura, kicking her baguette-thin legs in the air carelessly from her spot on your shoulder. finding you when you're vulnerable and lifting you up to dizzying heights then- oh! look, jane's dropped you and you're hurtling down-

you shut your eyes tightly in an attempt to shut her out.

'you okay?'

you look up, heart in your mouth. dark eyes are studying your face with an all-too-familiar quiet intensity and oh god the urge to throw your arms around her neck and sob into her t-shirt as she runs those warm strong hands up and down your back and tells you you're going to be okay is so overwhelming you can't breathe

but you don't. you exhale shakily, and meet her eyes dead on.

'i'm fine.'

another moment of silent study follows, only to be broken by jane snorting softly.

'yeah. i'm sure.'

and once again, you're left behind by jane as she pushes herself away from the locker block and stalks out of the changing room.


End file.
